


Royal Fuck-Up

by artificialSemblance



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialSemblance/pseuds/artificialSemblance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, Michael, again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Royal Fuck-Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually really old and I'm rather embarrassed to post this, but I might as well. It is never going to be finished, due to the fact the concept is really, really, unoriginal.  
> It has hardly been edited at all.  
> If you're reading this, prepare for some serious bullshit-y writing.
> 
> There were originally three chapters, but goddamn were they short, so I threw them altogether here.  
> I do have a few other works planned in the future, and hopefully they'll actually be completed.

You have always hated the fact that you tend to royally fuck up any interaction with another human. Let's be honest, you're Michael Jones, The Rage. You hate a lot of things, that's typical, right?  
Well, things are a little different this time. External sources normally cause anger for you, but internal conflicts are a foreign sea, waves of negative self revelations washing over you. Revelations that make you want to scream into a pillow about how much of an idiot you are, which results in breathing in feathers and feeling even more frustrated.  
At this moment, you are sitting, grinding your teeth and attempting to focus on the television blaring in front of you. You look at Lindsay, your fiancee, and bite your lip. Waiting a moment, you think over the perfect way to say this. It must be eloquent, you have to be careful. Planning out your next words, you speak.  
“Lindsay...” You start cautiously, “Do you ever think about leaving me?”  
She looks at you, a face of exasperation mirroring the intensity of your fidgety demeanor.  
“You ask me that a lot, Michael,” You flinch ever so slightly at the irritation in her voice, of course you do, you tend to do stupid things a lot.  
“I mean,” You sit up straight, “I get angry at you, all the time. I yell and I shout and I rage. Doesn't it ever... Bother you?”  
Her posture straightens, “If it bother me, would I still be here? If anything about you bothers me, it's how goddamn insecure you are sometimes.”  
Insecure? What does she mean? You are definitely anything except insecure.  
You were about to argue your case valiantly but she stands up before you can utter a sound.  
“You can sleep out here tonight, Michael. Think about things on your own for once, because if you're that concerned with our relationship, maybe it's time to end it.”  
With an air of finality, she walks to the bedroom, and as you hear the door close behind her you realize once more that you have fucked up another major part of your life.

The next day you and Lindsay drove to the office in separate cars. On any other day you would've driven together, listening to shitty music on the radio, exchanging stupid pick up lines. She was already parked and most likely in her office by the time you arrived.  
You walked into the office, sulking and looking at your feet as you walked, hoping to ward off any near by people that may have wanted to fuck with you today. It was more of a warning than anything, because you were pretty sure anyone that got close would be black and blue by the time they left.  
“Michael!” And of course, one idiot didn't notice your demeanor.  
You felt a heavy weight collide on your back the weight, stretching and wrapping it's arms around your neck, and you responded to the weight by instinctively whipping around and punching the weight right in it's little face.  
The weight was Gavin, and as he stumbled back his eyes were widened, you swore you could already see tears in them. Okay, the two of you roughhoused very often, but you didn’t think you've punched him square in his giant nose out of rage before, and Gavin seemed ultimately taken aback by it.  
Everything was still for a moment, he was covering his nose and mouth with his hand, and you saw a bit of blood. Fuck. The British man looked down, confused and maybe hurt, and then his eyes were filled with anger, “What the fuck, Michael!?” He exclaimed.  
It wasn't often that Gavin was angry, and you took a step back in surprise, a little bit of frustration seethed inside of you still that Gavin would be so oblivious to your anger in the first place.  
He walked away promptly, in the direction of the restroom where he would most likely tend to his bloody nose. You just watched him go, and then turned and walked into the office, plopped down into your chair, and stared at the ceiling.  
There you went again. Fucking things up, as usual. You heard someone enter the room, and spoke up without looking, assuming it was Gavin,  
“I'm so-”  
“Hey Michael, what ran Gavin over this time? His nose looks pretty smashed up,” The voice made you jump, definitely not Gavin. Distinctly Ray sounding.  
Looking over at him confirmed it, the dark haired man with dark rimmed glasses looked at you.  
“Sorry about that,” You weakly spoke up.  
“Oh, so it was you? Man. He looks pretty pissed off,” He extended the 'pretty' for emphasis. Ray always had a way of being insensitive, but in a kindhearted way. Almost as if he was just pretending to be rude, it always seemed as a way bro-like way to help people.  
Either way, you sighed. “Yeah, it was his own fucking fault, he had it coming,” Despite the harsh words, you felt a little bit guilty. Gavin genuinely looked upset, and also in a lot of pain.  
“You should probably apologize” He stated.  
You took that into consideration, but immediately rejected it with a shake of your head, “I'll let him cool down, first.”  
“Alright, whatever,” Ray shrugged and left the room, presumably to check up on your smashed up friend. 

 

The rest of the day, Gavin and you didn't speak at all. Even during the Let's Play: Mincecraft the group recorded, you purposely avoided him even in game.  
All of your fellow hunters questioned Gavin's bruised and battered nose, except Ray. Every time Gavin told the same story, he fell. Isn't that something abused girlfriends say to cover up for their douchebag boyfriends? Or an abused best friend, in this case.  
You aren't entirely sure why you're feeling guilty, even now, as you recline on your couch. Lindsay sent you an unceremonious text saying that she was staying at a friend's house. You really hope it was a female friend. However, knowing how she copes, she's probably sleeping with some guy she met at a bar she went to to drink away her sorrow.  
You sighed, shaking your head, mind shifting into thoughts of Gavin. How could you apologize?  
You decided to sit up, you stretched, rubbed your eyes and sighed. It's not even dark outside, you shouldn't wallow in self pity for too long. Grocery shopping? I guess that might be good, at least getting out and about will help with the stress.  
Scooping up your wallet and keys, you take a step outside into the harsh Texan heat and immediately groan. You hated it, you absolutely hated how fucking hot it was, or maybe you were just angry at everyone and everything, including the thermometer that read a little above 100.  
The store wasn't far, it only took a few minutes to walk there. You just didn't want to wait for the leather seats of the car to stop blazing in order to drive. However, the sweat on your back stuck to the inside of your shirt, and you had to squint your eyes the entire few blocks even with the darkening sun.  
A dry breeze hit you as you entered the door, but the cool dampness of your shirt soon made you feel slowed down and heavy. You definitely wanted a shower when you got home.  
When your basket was well filled with whatever food you thought looked appetizing (despite the sick feeling lingering in your stomach and bile taste left in your mouth), you found yourself in line, feeling particularly annoyed by the fact no other line were open.  
You're just about ready to put all your items back and walk the fuck out of there when someone, someone steps right in front of you. Without a care in the world. You ground your teeth and when he didn't even look back to apologize, you shoved the man in front of you.  
“What the fuck do you think you're doing, mate?” You growl, but he hardly budges, and he looks back at you, seeming equally irritated until you scan each other's faces and recognize who the other was.  
“Hey Michael, what do you think you're doing, pushing your boss around?” He seemed a lot more relaxed,but still shoved you back. It was unmistakably Geoff.  
You gave him a look, “What do you think you're doing cutting in line?”  
“Trying to get home to my wife and kid, that's what I'm doing,” He didn't sound really angry, it was more of a fake angry.  
There was static tension between the two of you until the cashier spoke up weakly, “Excuse me? I'll ring up whoever is next.”  
Of course, he strolls of to the register and sets his basket on the counter, then looks back at you, “Drinks in twenty minutes, the usual place?” He offers, and you nod and cross your arms, waiting for your turn with a clenched jaw.


End file.
